


Shitty's Week of Identity Affirmation

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon-typical swearing, Multi, i mean its from shitty's pov so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fuck you not – sophomore year? Five different people came out to me in a week.” - B. Shitty Knight</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shitty's Week of Identity Affirmation

**Author's Note:**

> IDK man, it sounded like fun and not like my thesis paper presentation I have to give tomorrow and was less emotionally draining to write than the Dex/Nursey fic I'm still working on

It starts at a kegster when Kent Fucking Parson shows up. Shitty knows that Parse and Jack were bros back in the Q, but given the whole…fucked up-ness that was the draft that season, he really didn’t think that Jack and Parse would still be on speaking terms. They’re not, he discovers, when Parse storms the fuck out of there and disappears off into the night like the bad cliché he is. It’s when Shitty goes to check on Jack – who, as he usually does at Haus parties, is hiding in his room – that he discovers Jack ashen faced and looking nauseous.

“Bro are you okay?” Shitty asks, immediately dropping down next to Jack and putting an arm around his shoulders. He realises belatedly that this means he’s left Lardo downstairs playing pong against the Frog d-men, Ransom and Holster, but he decides that if anyone can take those two out by herself, it’s Lardo.

“I’m--”

Jack folds his hands over the back of his head and rests his forehead on his knees, turning into a much smaller ball of a person than Shitty would have thought possible considering that Jack is fucking stacked.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, bro, I can just keep you company,” Shitty says. “But if you do want to talk about it, I’m fucking here for you, man.”

Jack mumbles something that Shitty can’t hear over the music coming from downstairs.

“Jack?” Shitty prompts.

“I was in love with him,” Jack says, looking up at Shitty with the sort of bleak expression Shitty imagines people would wear had they just been literally stabbed in the chest. “For years.”

“It’s okay, man,” Shitty says, because yeah, no, he did not get the gay vibe from Jack, but now that he thinks about it, he and Parse were way too good together on the ice to not have been…in synch…in a few other ways.

It’s the very next day that he’s grabbing coffee with Lardo at Annie’s.

She’s staring wistfully across the café and for a second Shitty just thinks she’s hungover, but then he follows her gaze. It’s fixed very specifically on a girl with purple hair, quite a few piercings, and the best leg-sleeve tattoos on her thighs Shitty’s ever seen.

“One of your art friends?” Shitty asks.

“Uh,” Lardo says, turning faintly pink. Shitty, who has never seen Lardo blush before, is stunned. “Sort of. I – we’re kind of – I think we’ve been flirting, but like, I’ve never exactly told anyone that I’m bi, so I don’t…”

“Well, you just told me,” Shitty points out. “But bro, if you like this girl and she’s been flirting with you, then you should definitely go for it.”

“You’re a good friend, Shits,” Lardo says, taking a bracing drink of her coffee and standing. She straightens her shorts and leaves her SMH sweatshirt with Shitty – which he totally understands. Lardo’s art friends don’t exactly gel with the hockey team – and marches across the café to ask the girl out.

It’s later that afternoon that Shitty starts to think something’s up.

Because he gets to the Haus and Holster is still hungover/drunk on the fucking gnarly couch looking like he’s regretting every single life choice he’s ever made. And when Shitty goes to check on him to make sure he’s not actively dead, Holster groans and grabs Shitty’s wrists like he’s a lifeline.

“Shitty?” he asks, his eyes completely bloodshot. Shitty doesn’t know if it’s from the pot at the party the night before or if it’s because Holster accidentally slept in his contacts. “Shitty I did a stupid.”

“That’s okay buddy,” Shitty says, patting him on the side of the face. “We all make stupid choices.”

“No, no, Shitty, I made out with Holster,” Holster says.

Shitty sighs. “ _You’re_ Holster.”

“Oh,” Holster says, and yeah, Shitty’s going with “still drunk.” “Then I made out with Ransom.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Shitty asks, because apparently this is where his week is going.

“I think I liked it?” Holster says. He sounds terrified. “But Shitty, I really like girls and--”

“You’re allowed to be bisexual,” Shitty says before Holster can work himself into a full panic.

“I am?” Holster asks, turning into a ray of sunshine. “Cool!”

“Okay, buddy, I’m gonna get you some water, okay?” Shitty says, leaving the giant d-man on the couch and heading for the kitchen. When he gets back, Holster has passed out again. Shitty leaves the water and retreats to his bedroom.

Tuesday passes without any incidents for which Shitty is grateful. This spell of normalcy is broken on Wednesday morning when he comes across Ransom looking worried.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Shitty asks.

Without so much as preamble, Ransom says, “I think I’m gay for Holster.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re the fourth person this week,” Shitty says, leaning back against the bench like he can ask the sky what the fuck.

“There are four other people gay for Holster? Who are they? I’m gonna fuck ‘em up--”

“No, you’re just the fourth person to tell me they’re not straight this week,” Shitty says.

“Oh,” Ransom says. “Oh, okay. I would though. I would fuck them up.”

“I know, bro,” Shitty says. “I know.”

Friday of the weirdest week Shitty’s ever had dawns with Jack knocking on Shitty’s door way too early and dropping a ringing phone on him.

“I – I can’t,” Jack says. He’s looked like a kicked puppy since Parse showed up at the party unless they’re at practice and Shitty can’t deal with that because Jack Zimmermann deserves so much better than an asshat like Kent Parson.

“It’s okay,” Shitty says, even though he’s half asleep himself. He picks up the phone and looks at the caller ID. “Speak of the fucking devil.”

“I can’t answer it,” Jack says, folding into his surprisingly tiny ball on Shitty’s beanbag chair.

“Okay,” Shitty says, sliding to answer. He intends to tell Parson just exactly where he can stick it, but Parse starts talking first.

“Zimms – Jack – I just – please don’t hang up, just listen,” Parse says. He takes a deep breath and sounds a little fucked up emotionally, but all it takes is Shitty looking across the room at his currently panicking best friend to lose any and all sympathy for Parse. “I just – I loved you so much, and, I mean, you’re the reason I even figured out I was gay and maybe I should’ve told you that, but like – it never would’ve worked, right?”

Shitty glances across the room at Jack, who is still shaking.

“Yeah, you can go fuck yourself Parson,” Shitty says, ending the call and tossing the phone back to Jack. Jack looks up, surprised. “Five people. One week. _Five separate people_ have come out to me.”

Jack still looks unsure. “Are you – okay with that?”

Shitty shrugs. “I think so,” he says. “But I have a compelling urge to revise the ‘1 in 4 or more’ saying.”

“To what?” Jack asks.

“’1 in 4 or more unless you’re friends with Shitty Knight in which case there’s a 99% chance you’re not straight’,” Shitty says.

Jack, through the obvious tail end of his anxiety spike from seeing Parse’s name on his caller ID, half-heartedly raises his eyebrows.

“What are you going to do with that power?” Jack asks.

Shitty considers. “I’m gonna go befriend the entire student population.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me about these silly gay hockey players on [tumblr](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com).


End file.
